


A Brief History of Fools

by cornelius



Series: A Brief History of Fools [1]
Category: Farseer Trilogy - Robin Hobb, Fitz and the Fool Trilogy - Robin Hobb, Tawny Man Trilogy - Robin Hobb
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 08:57:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4385726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cornelius/pseuds/cornelius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When an old friend returned, Fitz found his life shifting in unexpected ways. A Modern AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Brief History of Fools

* * *

 

When I saw him again after so many years apart, it was completely unexpected.

We happened on him when my young daughter, Bee, and I found ourselves in a small art gallery during a shopping trip; Bee felt the need to enter every store we passed, just in case there was something interesting for her to see. As we entered, the manager stared at us cooly and tapped a patent leather stiletto impatiently, but I couldn’t blame her for being frustrated. Bee, after all, was in her usual unkempt state, her clothes boyish and her light-yellow hair wild. And despite the fact that I was laden with several shopping bags, my dirt stained jeans and worn flannel did not mark me as the gallery’s usual clientele.

Bee was off like a shot once she was through the door, and I called out for her to be careful. The manager had me put the bags of sorely needed winter clothes and all of Bee’s treasures behind her desk, lest an errant bag collide into something and damage it. As I divested myself of shopping bags, I heard Bee strike up of conversation with someone just out of eyesight. I could see her standing by a carved wooden bust (the face of the statue turned away from me), and the elegant hands of the person she was talking to, but the rest was hidden behind a divider.

“I’m so sorry,” I called as I approached them, all of my attention on Bee and trying to catch her hand, “She is very inquisitive. I hope she’s not a bother.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble,” he said and at the sound of his voice, memories stirred in me I thought I’d long ago dealt with and put aside.

I looked up at him and he smiled at me, his eyes sparkling with delight. I was intimately familiar with that smile; since childhood, he’d given me that smile when he knew something I didn’t.

“Fool?” I asked disbelieving, “Is that really you?”

Hearing his boyhood nickname, his smile broadened and he threw himself into my arms. I grasped him back, my fingers clutching the fine fabric of his shirt.

“I can’t believe it’s you,” I whispered into his neck. I felt tears well up in my eyes, but I refused to let them fall--not here, not in front of my daughter. It had been close to two decades since I’d seen him last, since that whirlwind year we’d spent together working for my cousin, Dutiful.

“Who else would I be?” he asked, his voice light and full of laughter.

Bee put her hand on my knee and I felt a twinge of guilt; she had completely fled my mind once I realized it was that the Fool--my Fool--was here in the flesh. His hair and skin were darker than I remembered, but his voice was unchanged, light and airy and thick with mirth. I scooped her up with one hand and put her on my hip, the other hand glued to the Fool’s back. I worried that if I let him go, he would disappear again, gone like the wisps of countless dreams.

“Bee,” I said, turning to face her, “this is my old friend the Fool. Remember? I’ve told you about him before.”

He gave her a dramatic bow, ending with an elegant flourish of an imaginary hat and told her, “It’s my greatest honor to meet you my lady Bee.” He winked at her and she giggled, before squirming free of my hold.

She curtsied at him, and then they were in their own world, a world that was impervious to me. As they resumed their earlier conversation, I took a look at the bust that had caught her attention. I walked around to see its face and gasped. It was my face!

I looked at myself, lovingly and faithfully reproduced in dark-veined wood, down to the scars on my face and the streak of white hair I earned in my teenage years. I read the placard underneath--Paragon by Amber: see dealer for details--and I knew I had to have it. I couldn’t imagine anyone else owning my face as carved by the Fool, or it sitting in someone else’s home.  

I immediately left Bee with my friend, secure in the knowledge that she was in the best of hands, and crossed the room to find the woman who had so scorned me and Bee when we walked in. I spoke with her and she asked for a ridiculous amount of money, but between my income from writing and the profits from Molly’s vineyard and apiary, I had more money than I’d ever had in my life. I wrote her a check before I could come to my senses and then it was mine.

I followed her in a daze back to the bust, where she placed a SOLD sticker just under the placard. The Fool looked at me in surprise and I gave him a sheepish grin.

“She wants to keep it through the end of the week,” I explained, “But you can bring it with you when you come to dinner on Saturday.”

He raised one shapely blond eyebrow at me. “I’m coming to dinner on Saturday?” His face was somber but his eyes were smiling, widely amused by my invitation.

“I would like that,” I said earnestly and Bee tugged on my jeans.

“I would like that too,” she said, enunciating every word clearly.

And with that, the Fool was back in my life. It started slowly, dinners on weekends turned into nightly meals. Evenings together began to stretch into the early hours of the morning, spilling over into brunches and picnic lunches and afternoons playing board games on the floor.

He asked to use part of my garage for smaller projects when he visited, and I happily agreed. When Molly’d been alive, it was a space we had rarely used; the original owners had been able to fit six cars in the space, but we only ever parked my vintage Chevy pickup and her sensible used sedan in the space. When our older daughter or my foster son came to visit, they usually took a space or two, but I doubted they would get upset parking their cars outside.

Over the weeks following our happenstance meeting, he moved most of his woodworking and other carving equipment from his studio into the large garage. He accomplished this while I was in my den writing or out supervising the vineyard operations, so I didn’t really know it had happened until he told me the move was finished. He had always been a private man, so I didn’t want to trespass on what had transformed into his space, preferring to wait for him to come to me or invite me in.

Bee didn’t share my trepidations. She came and went as she pleased, frequently passing whole days in his workroom. On those days, she only emerged for dinner, and usually with a new puzzle box and a look of concentration on her face.

She invited him into her space, too, bringing him out to her hives. I was not privy to those excursions, but I knew they enjoyed each other's company. They always came back to the house pink in the face with wide smiles, the Fool carrying buckets of honey or combs or wax.

Bee and the Fool shared something I don't know if I could put into words. Some nights they would talk in their own made up language for hours as they acted out a drama with the Fool's handmade puppets. Other nights, she would sit on his lap and they would look out over the vineyard as the sun set, saying nothing at all. She counted the fireflies as they emerged, one by one in the twilight, and wordlessly pointed them out to the Fool.

Even my wolf, Nighteyes, took to the Fool. The Fool could never seem to stay warm in the chill of the night, so as the weather turned colder, the Fool and Nighteyes became inseparable. When the Fool and I sat in front of the fire, sharing stories old and new, Nighteyes always laid against the Fool’s back to share his body heat. And when the Fool came down with flu, Nighteyes didn’t leave his side until he was back to his old self.  

So when the lease on his apartment was up the following spring, it was only right to give him the pick of the house's numerous bedrooms. Bee loved him and he was part of Nighteyes’ pack and I had come to depend on his presence in my home. Whether it was watching Bee when I was busy with work or bringing me lunch when I got too caught up in said work, I felt like my life was the most settled it'd been in years. Maybe since my wife died. Maybe even longer.

It felt so natural to have the Fool with me, sharing my home and my life, that I hardly noticed how drastically my life had changed until he was gone. In a haze one morning, I dreamed of a pre-dawn kiss to my cheek. A brush of the curtain of his dark golden-blond hair. Murmured words of love.

When I couldn’t find the Fool anywhere on the property, I thought he had left to run an errand, or pick up supplies or any other daily tasks that took him from home. That was, until a day passed and he still was nowhere to be seen. He was gone, and a suitcase was gone, and I had no idea when he’d be back. If he’d be back.

He had to come back--his workroom was still full of planks of cedar and ancient logs and interesting roots he picked up on one of our walks together, and his winter things still hung in the coat closet. But it wasn’t unheard of for people to send for those things later.

Bee and Nighteyes found me in his workroom, sitting on the floor and holding a shirt he’d left on his worktable, as if my pain and confusion reached out and brought them to me. Bee sat on my lap and wrapped her tiny arms around my neck while Nighteyes rested his great wolf head on my knee. We all sat together on the cold hard cement, my daughter and my wolf comforting me, for what felt like hours.

Eventually we had to get up to do other things--eat, clean ourselves, go outside, get to work--and I let them go before me. I had a hard time removing myself from his space, feeling irrationally that if I left the garage, I was letting him go.

My mood didn’t improve over the next few days. I am now ashamed to say that I snapped a few too many times at the house and vineyard staff. I neglected Bee and my own health, preferring to shut myself in my den and brood. Nighteyes finally intervened, physically dragging me out of my den to eat and spend time with Bee.

Still, I couldn’t help but wallow. The Fool had always come and gone freely from my life, and I doubted much tethered him to any place he stayed, or any people he stayed with. I obsessively reread my journals from times he’d been in my life before: when I’d been a love-struck and reckless teenager, when I’d been a wild and rash adult. I wanted to fling them into the fire that warmed my den, severing any connection to those times in the past, those times when I’d been happy with the Fool. But instead, I carefully put them back in storage, protecting them from my worst impulses.

During this time, my older daughter, Nettle, called to check up on me and I ignored it. I had missed nearly all of her childhood and though we were close now, I still feared angering her to the point that she would leave too. My black mood worsened at the thought.

I fell asleep in my den that night with Bee curled up in the homey wingback chair her mother used to sit in and Nighteyes pretending to sleep at her feet. I dreamed that the Fool returned to me and ran his long, lithe fingers through my hair. I could hear him say, “Oh Fitz,” and pull me out of my desk chair (he was always stronger than he looked). In the dream, he helped me out of my flannel and boots, leaving me in my black tank top and jeans. He tucked me into my bed and after my dream-self asked him, he crawled in beside me.

I awoke in a state of confusion, the Fool staring at me as I tip toed back into consciousness.

“You’re back,” I croaked and reached for him across the inches between us.

He took my hand and laced our fingers together. “Unfortunately, my work requires travel.” He furrowed his brows. “I put the dates I would be gone on your calendar and I said goodbye before I left.”

I blinked at him in surprise. So it hadn’t been a dream. My cheek burned where he had kissed me all those days ago. I wrapped an arm around his torso and pulled him close. He made a startled noise--it was one of the rare times I had seen him less that perfectly graceful--but he came to me. I buried my face in his neck and made him swear that he would make sure I knew he was going and when he was going to be back before he left in the future. I could feel his smile as he agreed to my terms and I grumbled.

“There’s nothing funny about me worrying about you, Beloved,” I said into his neck, calling him by his name for the first time since he’d come back into my life. I think that shocked him a little; he tensed up momentarily, before melting back into my embrace.

“I will always come back to you, Fitz,” he said, the words filling up some part of me that had been empty for as long as I could remember. “I’ve come back to you twice before, and I will come back to you in the future. It’s a little selfish of me, I know--”

I cut him off with a growl. We fell into a comfortable silence, me gripping the Fool as hard as I could manage without hurting him and him tracing patterns on my bare bicep. We were only interrupted when Bee came into the room with Nighteyes. Neither of them seemed surprised to see the Fool home, or him in my bed for that matter, but just joined us in the bed without a word.

The wolf I’d rescued as a pup got his snout on my hip and my miracle daughter who’d came to me so late in life found a way to squeeze herself between me and the Fool. I felt whole. Tears threatened to spill down my face, but the Fool caught each one with a deft swipe of his thumb.

My growling stomach forced us out of bed and to the kitchen. The Fool and I cooked breakfast, thick rashers of bacon, fluffy scrambled eggs and a stack of pancakes topped with homemade cinnamon butter. Bee ate heartily and passed scraps to Nighteyes when she thought I wasn’t looking. I couldn't remember a happier morning.

Even with plenty of warning, facing the reality of the Fool’s leaving again was hardly any easier.

The Fool was installing one of his larger pieces half a continent away, and staying for a reception in his honor. He was always at perfect ease in those sorts of situations, dressed impeccably, knowing the right things to say to the right people, while I fumbled and bungled my way through. I knew he wanted to stay to be celebrated and drink wine that hadn’t come from his own backyard, but I couldn’t stop myself from feeling a little hurt. Including the reception, he would be out of my home for 10 days instead of just a week, and the prospect of him extending his trip, even just three days, soured my mood even before he left.

The night before his departure he found me in my den, scowling over some translations that weren't needed for months. The Fool slipped into my den soundlessly and startled me when he touched my shoulder.

“Are you all packed?” I asked as he perched on the edge of my desk and grabbed the scans of the document I had been poring over. His long blond hair was pulled into a neat bun on the top of his head and garlanded with small wildflowers, most likely Bee’s work. He wore soft heather-grey sweatpants and a t-shirt so faded, I couldn’t make out what once was written on it, though there appeared to be something in the shape of a rooster.

He hummed a yes and added, “Bee helped me fold my clothes before I put her to bed.”

It was both odd and comforting seeing the Fool take on such a domestic role. When we were kids, I never imagined the Fool as person who could one day grow up and potentially have children. At that time, he seemed so removed from normal life; he never dated and he never talked about the future--at least not his own. Now, as an adult pushing fifty, it warmed my heart to see how naturally he slipped into my life and made friends with my daughter. Bee’s quiet intelligence often alienated her from her peers and her stubbornness set many of the vineyard staff clucking in disapproval.

But then again, the Fool’d always been able to blend in anywhere he went, be whoever he needed to be.

Panic coursed through me. What if he had done the same thing now? Become who he thought he needed to be? It had been so long time since I’d seen him last. We may have spent several months in each other’s company, but did I even really know him anymore?

The Fool sensed my distress and pressed his forehead to mine. I realized once he was so close that my breathing had become ragged and my heart was pounding furiously. I began to breathe with him, and let his calm pour into me where we touched.

He moved away from me and some of my earlier panic returned. “Do you like it here?” I asked without thinking.

“You’re here,” he replied, as if that made any kind of sense.

“But,” I started, “Are you sure there’s no where else you’d rather be?” I thought of him with Bee. Neither of us were spring chickens now, but it certainly wasn’t too late for him to have a chance at his own family.

He shook his head. “I love you,” he stated plainly, “and I am happy every day I wake up in your home.”

I looked at him dumbfounded. “You love me?” How did I miss that?

“I told you once that I set no limits on my love for you,” he said, “We were practically children at the time and I’m sure whatever mortal peril we were facing was more important. But I meant it then and my feelings for you are unchanged.”

I must have gaped at him for some time. He sighed and touched my hand gently. I looked at where our hands met and his touch was so light that it was like seeing him touch some hand other than my own.

“I-- I need--,” I stammered, but the Fool spoke before I could finish.

“You need time,” he said, a grin tugging the corner of his mouth, “as usual.” He gave me one of his looks that told me he’d already seen where this all would go and he was pleased with the outcome.

“Now,” he said playfully, tapping me on the nose with his other hand and shocking me with his sudden change of demeanor, “I must leave first thing in the morning and I still have a million preparations to make.” He leaped off the desk in a graceful arc, performing a sweeping turn as he faced me that would make a court jester proud.

He put one hand on my face and gave me the briefest of pecks on the corner of my mouth before vanishing from my den. I sat there dazed for how long I don’t remember, my mouth tingling from the memory of his kiss.

Like before, he came to tell me goodbye first thing in the morning, when I was still half-asleep and groggy. He pressed a kiss to my temple and whispered in my ear, laughter tinkling in his words, “I also gave Bee my camera to use while I’m gone.”   
  
I wanted to protest for just a moment. After all, who gives a nine year-old a camera worth tens of thousands of dollars? But that thought passed as quickly as it came. If any nine year-old could be entrusted with such a gift, even for a short time, it was my daughter.

I caught his wrist as he started to move from the bed. “Come home soon, Fool.”

“I will, Beloved,” he said, words thick with emotion. I placed my own kiss to his delicate wrist before I released him. I toppled back into sleep after that, only waking hours later to find Bee straddling my chest, staring me down the lens of the Fool’s camera.

The shutter clicked and Bee pulled the camera away from her face to look at the picture she’d taken on the little screen. She frowned at the picture, adjusted the dials and pushed several buttons before taking a second picture of me. Liking this one better, she took the camera strap off from around her neck and deposited the camera gently on my bedside table. I knew she was strong for her age and size, but I still was impressed by how well she handled the heavy camera.

Once free of the camera, she fell onto my chest and stretched her short arms as far as they could reach to hug me. I wrapped my arms around her and buried my face in her wispy blond hair.

“Don’t worry, Da,” she said, and my heart swelled to hear my daughter call me by the nickname, “He’ll be back soon. You don’t have to be sad.”

“Hey,” I said and she looked up at me. “I’m not--”

“It’s perfectly understandable for you to be sad. I don’t judge you for it.”

Over the next few days, Bee’s experiments in photography were a nice distraction from missing the Fool. I was surprised that she didn’t take the Fool’s camera and many lenses outdoors, like I would have done, but instead confined her dabbling to candids and portraiture. She would often catch me unaware, snapping a picture right as I walked into a room or when I was hunched over something in my den. I saw on her once as I was working in my garden. She was on the other side of the large windows in the living room scowling at the camera in displeasure. By the furrow of her brow, I knew she had just taken a picture of me she wasn’t happy with, and was preparing to try again. I feigned ignorance when she started to look up again, happy that she was content in her hobby.

Another unexpected pleasure of the Fool’s absence was the small gifts he’d left behind for Bee and me. They were placed in unobtrusive places, but the Fool chose well in his hiding spots. A bracelet had been lain next to my pens in my den, the beads made of fat wooden cylinders, perfectly round and the dark wood polished to a shine. I found a statue of Bee on the mantle in the living room, but it looked like it belonged there, so I left it where the Fool had placed it.

Bee found her treasures when she went to grab a board game for us to play one night. Tucked in the cabinet were two wooden dolls with fully-articulated arms and legs. The clothing they wore was hand stitched and the faces were painted in such detail that I wondered how long it had taken him to make them.

On the night before his return date, I found another carved bust of me, this one of a dark stone flecked with silver, nestled between flannel shirts in my laundry basket. I laughed a little, at myself and at the Fool. I wondered if the Fool expected me to find it immediately (since my clean clothes had been sitting in that basket since the day before he left), or if he knew I was terrible about putting my laundry away and wouldn’t find it until days later. I was inclined to believe it was the latter, and I could see him, a wide grin on his face, content that whatever vision he’d had of the future came to pass.

As I examined the miniature bust, I found a groove on the side of its head that suggested something fitted into it, and I rooted around in my basket until I found a similarly sized carving of Nighteyes. Both fit easily in my palm and were as lifelike as a picture. The Fool used the natural changes in color in the stone to emphasize Nighteyes fur or to faithfully reproduce a scar I’d had on my cheek since adolescence.

I dug further into my basket before upturning it completely and spilling its contents on my bedroom floor. Once I had the two busts put together, it was clear that a third would complete the set, and searched for it in vain.

Nighteyes let himself into my room, snuffling around in the clothes strewn over the floor. He pushed them into a nest, his enormous paws and snout working in concert, and laid down. I tried to shoo him off, but he would not be moved. I suppose it didn’t matter if he stayed for a minute or several hours; the clothes would have to be rewashed either way.

Once Nighteyes was settled on my things, I gave up the search. If something had been hidden in the folds of my clothing, I wouldn’t be able to find it until Nighteyes moved.

A wave of exhaustion quickly overtook me and I finally realized just how late I had stayed up working. I collapsed onto my bed, my jeans barely shucked off, when sleep overtook me.

Again, I woke too late in the day, groggy and head pounding. I wondered what Bee was up to. I trusted her to shower and dress herself, but she usually grabbed me for breakfast. Even at nine, most of the counters in the kitchen were too tall for my daughter. The Fool had built her a stool so that she could reach items in the pantry and get to the smaller appliances, but she still preferred for me or the Fool to cook.

The Fool! How could I forget! He should be home by now! I jolted out of bed and ran down the hall, barely sparing the time to pull some pants on over my underwear.

I found all three of them--my wolf, my daughter and my friend--sitting at the round table in the breakfast nook. The Fool had his phone out and was, presumedly, showing Bee pictures from his trip, while Bee listened to his stories avidly. Nighteyes’ head was firmly planted on the Fool’s lap, and I caught him gobbling up some errant morsels that had fallen from the table.

Relief coursed through me, seeing all of them together. The Fool was home and everything was right. His hair was pulled back in a half ponytail, and I could see his earring winking at me when he turned his head. I recognized the sapphire in silver mesh that dangled from his ear almost immediately. I had been given the earring shortly after my father died, and I had passed it on to the Fool when we parted ways as teenagers.

He’d not only kept it all these years, but still wore it. My heart swelled. The Fool looked my way and smiled, and I felt drawn to him. I walked around the table so I could drape myself over his shoulders, and his hands came up to grasp my forearms.

“I missed you,” I growled into his hair.

We held each other until Bee tapped my shoulder impatiently. “He wasn’t finished yet, Da,” she said. The Fool released me from his hold, but I kept my arms around him. I put my chin on his shoulder as he picked up his phone again, and he resumed his story.

I sighed dreamily. The Fool in my arms, my daughter and my wolf at my sides, the morning sun on my back--I couldn’t remember ever being so happy. I had zoned out almost completely until the Fool accidently scrolled through his pictures too far, and one of me hunched over my desk, my head in my hands, came into view. He tensed and quickly scrolled back, but the damage was done. I reached over him and brought the picture of me back up. I swiped across the screen and another picture of me came into view, this time it was one of me playing on the living room floor with Nighteyes.

I stood up ramrod straight, and my face burned. I tried to formulate a question but the Fool had an answer before I could get the words out.

“Bee sent them to me,” he explained, “She wanted my opinion on the artistic merit of the photographs, but also--” He paused and turned to be Bee. A look that encapsulated a whole conversation passed between them before she nodded. The Fool looked back at me and continued, “She wanted me to know when you were feeling sad or upset. When I received those pictures, I knew to call or text you if I was able.”

I tried to remember which night the first picture had been taken. Had the Fool called me after that picture was taken? I remember moving from my desk chair to the comfy chair in my den, and talking to the Fool for almost an hour one evening. Was it that same night?

Still, the invasion of my privacy rankled me. I needed to get out of the house and clear my head. I called Nighteyes to me as I walked out the door in the living room that led to my garden and a bit of the remaining wilderness on the property. He came reluctantly.

Once we were out of eyesight of the house, I found the small stream that bisected this part of the property, barely deep enough for small fish, and stomped along one of its banks. I could feel Nighteyes’ disapproval of the noise I made as a rabbit skittered out of some nearby underbrush and hopped away. He snapped his teeth at it and turned to whine at me.

“I’m sorry, Nighteyes,” I said, sitting down on a large flat rock, “I guess I’m ruining your hunt. You go off for a bit and I’ll stay here.” I sent him off with a flick of my wrist and he loped away, seeking a part of the forest that hadn’t already been alerted to our presence.

Then it was just me and the burble of the stream and the call of the songbirds overhead. I felt so foolish. Bee and the Fool cared about me, but still part of me bristled at the thought of the two of them discussing me without my knowledge.

I picked up a fist-sized rock and hurled it at the stream in frustration. It hit the water with a loud and satisfying plop so I picked up another rock and did the same. I picked up a third rock and was about to throw it when I heard the rustle of small plants. I held the rock like a weapon and strained to hear anything that might tell me whether or not I was in danger.

I heard the noise again and soundlessly lowered myself off my perch and into a crouch. I was about to hurl the stone still gripped in my hand when Bee emerged, a hand on Nighteyes’ withers.

My whole body relaxed as soon as I saw her and I walked over to scoop her up in my arms. She squirmed until I set her down on the rock I had just vacated. I gave her a serious look, but she refused to meet my eyes.

“Bee,” I started, her name laden with rebuke, “what are you doing out here?”

“I don’t want you to be mad at him,” she said, adding belatedly, “Or me.”

“I’m not mad,” I said with a sigh, “It was just … unexpected.”

“He loves you and I love you, too, and you can get so sad.” Her voice quivered and guilt washed over me. I didn’t know if I felt more ashamed of my behavior or that my little daughter felt I was so far gone I needed intervention.

“I know,” I said softly and took a seat beside her, “I know all of that.”

We lapsed into silence, but that wasn’t unusual with us. She swung her feet from the rock as looked around at the forest around us. I was always amazed by how intently she looked at the world. I wouldn’t be surprised if she could go back to our house and paint the forest from this vantage point in painstaking detail.

“Does it bother you,” I asked and this time I averted my gaze, “that he loves me?”

She pursed her lips and furrowed her brows. She didn’t speak for what felt like some of the longest seconds of my life, and I thought that an unqualified yes would have been easier to take.

“You loved mother,” she stated to the forest, “and you still love her even though she has been dead for almost two years.”

“Yes,” I said, answering her though she didn’t phrase her words as a question.

“He’s loved you for a long time and I think you love him, too. I think you’ve loved him just as long.”

I hesitated but I wanted to be honest with Bee. “Yes,” I said again.

“Then I suppose it doesn’t bother me. This is how it has been my whole life.”

“But Bee,” I started and dragged a hand over my face. I had no idea how to ask my daughter the question I needed to ask her. “But would you be … okay if I were with him like I was with your mother?”

She scrunched up her face, confused.

“I mean, uh, kissing and--”

“But he kisses you already.”

I groaned and decided to change tack. “How would you feel if, in the future, the Fool was also your father? In addition to me, of course.”

She looked at the rock consideringly, tracing pattern on its surface as she thought. “Would he move into your bedroom?”

“Maybe,” I said, “Eventually.” I thought about the Fool’s need for privacy. “If he wants.”

“Would you get rid of all of Mother’s things?”

“No, but we might move them.”

She nodded sagely and said, “You can put them in my room.”

I smiled and shook her small hand in agreement. I picked her up again and put her back on the ground. I called for Nighteyes and moments later, I saw him appear from behind a tree, blood on his muzzle. Bee gasped, but Nighteyes quickly washed off his snout in the stream and bounded over to her to help her through the forest. He led her back toward the house, and I followed behind them.

The canopy of the forest had shielded us from the heat of the early summer day, but as soon as we stepped out of its protective shade, we all made a break for the cool of the house’s air conditioning. Bee and Nighteyes fell onto the hardwood of the living room floor not covered by an area rug and sighed in relief.

The Fool walked to me cautiously and put a sweating glass of lemonade in my hand. “Freshly squeezed,” he said and I took a sip. It was tart and refreshing and probably the best lemonade I’d ever had, but I didn’t have time to worry about that.

“Can we go somewhere private?” I asked and the Fool’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Of course, Fitz,” he replied.

I looked over at Nighteyes and Bee, and Nighteyes seemed to say, “Go on. I’ll look after the cub.” He laid his big head on her belly and she giggled, futilely trying to push him off. I knew she was in good hands--or paws as it were.

I led him to my den and he shut the door behind us. I put the lemonade he’d given me on the corner of my desk, and fidgeted nervously. Ever calm and collected, the Fool crossed the room without a hint of anxiety and slipped a coaster underneath my glass.

I opened my mouth to thank him, but instead I blurted out, “Fool, I love you, but I don’t know what you want from me.”

His smile was small, and maybe for just a moment, a little sad. “I will take whatever you give me,” he said magnanimously, “All I have ever hoped for is your love and you have freely given that to me. If there is more to give, we have plenty of time for you to give it to me.”

I chuckled. The Fool always said such odd things. “We are old men and you say we have plenty of time,” I said as I took in his appearance. The darkening of his skin and hair seemed to be only sign that he’d aged at all since the last time I’d seen him. His face was still smooth and unmarred by wrinkles, and there wasn’t even a hint of grey in his hair. “Though you still look so young.”

He shrugged and sent a wry smile my way. “And yet, I am still the older one.”

I laughed, because I didn’t know what else to do with myself. Once my laughter died down, we just looked at each other, and I could feel him waiting for me to do something. He was standing so close now, and I would barely have to move to touch him.

I cupped his jaw and he leaned into the touch, his hand coming up to hold mine. I took in a fortifying breath before I leaned in and kissed him. It was nothing more than a chaste peck, but it was the first time I’d ever kissed him like that. I felt dazed, like I had been fried by an electric shock, but the Fool just laughed. His laugh was one of pure joy and it so infectious that I began to laugh, too.

He cut off my laugh with the firm press of his mouth to mine as if he had been waiting for permission to do so. He was bolder than I had been, grabbing a handful of my flannel shirt with one hand and wrapping the other around my waist to pull me close. His kiss spoke of passions I’d only just become aware of and so I clung to him, fearful of getting swept away in the tide of his emotion. I always forgot how strong the Fool was until I saw his strength in action. His arms were firm and locked, but rather than feeling trapped in his embrace, I felt supported. The way he was kissing me, I needed all the help standing I could get.

He pulled away from me, but didn’t go far. His hands came up to hold my face, thumbs rasping over the stubble on my cheeks.

“Oh Fitz,” he said, his voice brimming with emotion, “You don’t know how long I’ve waited to do that.”

I smiled and kissed him again, and this time, I didn’t hold back. The Fool and I were no strangers to intimacy, but I had never felt so at ease displaying my affection for him. Where I had been unsure of myself in previous relationships, always second-guessing my actions, I felt secure in my love of the Fool. I now knew that anything I gave him, big or small, would be not only welcomed, but treasured. If I ended the kiss right now, walked out the door and never sent another scrap of affection his way, he would accept it and still love me all the same. But now that I had this, I knew I could never give it up.

I twined my fingers in his hair and pulled him closer in defiance of my earlier thought. The Fool responded to my vigor by running his hands over my chest and stomach. It felt so good that I moaned into his mouth, and he took that as an opening to deepen the kiss.

Like all things in life, in kissing, the Fool was an expert. I had no idea where or when or how the Fool had learned to kiss, but at that moment, I really wanted to send a gift basket to his teacher. I also slightly bemoaned the fact that I hadn’t taught him to kiss, but the younger versions of me had thought little of kissing the Fool.

My whole body went lax as I sighed with pleasure. He laughed again, but this time I could feel it more that hear it, as his mouth was busy working over my neck.

I thought that I should feel ashamed for how pliant I was in his embrace, but I quickly dismissed the thought as he pushed me into the comfy chair and sat himself in my lap, straddling my hips. From this position, I could rest my hands on his hips or his waist or the tops of his thighs. We were almost of a height now, so he had to lean down to kiss me, choosing to rest his slender hands on my shoulders.

Passionate kisses turned to breathless giggles. He rested his forehead on mine, looking into my eyes, and I smiled up at him. He sat back on his haunches as if to get up and I refused to let him out of the circle of my arms. His grin widened and he settled onto my lap--we were still as close as ever, but it was easier to have a conversation with a little space between us.

And talk we did. He told me stories about his travels during the years we’d been apart, and I dusted off some of my favorite parenting stories. I knew I’d told him some of them before, but he laughed like it was the first time hearing them. As we talked, he pulled my dark curly hair from the loose ponytail I usually wore it in and began braiding sections of it. I asked him where he learned to braid hair and he gave me one of his standard vague replies.

“Oh, here and there,” he said as he tucked one braid behind my ear.

“You’ll have to teach me,” I said, “for when Bee finally decides to grow her hair long enough to braid.”

“It would be my pleasure,” he said with a dramatic flourish of his hand. I caught his wrist as he finished and dropped small kisses on the tips of his fingers. He gasped and it was my turn to laugh at his shock.

“Did I surprise you, Fool?” I asked playfully.

“You never fail to surprise me, Fitz,” he replied sincerely. Tears welled up in his eyes, and suddenly it seemed like he didn’t know what to do with his hands as he smoothed wrinkles from my shirt restlessly.

I put my hands on his face and he began to cry in earnest

“Fool, I--” I started, “I’m sorry if I did anything wrong--”

“No!” He cried, “You have done everything just as you should have. I just didn’t realize what that would feel like.” He smiled through his tears and broke away from my hold to find the handkerchief he always had tucked in one pocket or another.

“You never make any sense,” I grumbled as I helped him wipe his face.

I heard a floorboard creak and something crash outside the door to my den. I gave the Fool an exasperated look, and I could see that he was trying to hold back laughter. It was time to leave the safety of the den and face the chaos on the other side of the door. If we waited too long, Nighteyes would try to catch a fish for Bee or try to teach her how to hunt again, and I still had scars from last time.

The Fool gracefully unfolded himself from my lap and gave me one last peck before helping me out of the chair. We stepped out into the hallway as Bee broke into a run toward us. Nighteyes chased her, foregoing his usual stealthiness as his footsteps thudded down the hall. The Fool threw Bee over his shoulder and Nighteyes pretended to try to catch her with his teeth as the Fool swung her back and forth, Bee giggling all the while.

The three of them walked toward the kitchen and I beamed as I followed them. The Fool sent me a wink over my shoulder and it stopped me dead in my tracks. I felt my ears heat up and he smiled at my reaction.

I got a chance to get back at him just a few days later. The days were getting hotter, so I had to forego my everyday flannel outer layer, especially if I did anything outside. On that day, I wore a dark grey tank top and my softest pair of jeans while I worked out in my garden. The summer sun took its toll on me and so I peeled off my tank top, mostly soaked through already, to wipe the sweat from my brow. It just so happened that that was exact moment the Fool chose to bring me some water. His eyes widened as I accidentally bared my chest to him, and I grinned at him smugly.

However, the Fool rarely stayed shocked for long. His open-mouthed surprise melted into a heated gaze that sent all the blood in my body south. He looked me up and down, then canted his head toward an ancient live oak, its branches heavy from years of growth. The droop of the limbs would give us some privacy, shielding us from view of the house.

I thought of Bee. Hap, my foster son, was visiting for the weekend and Bee stuck to him like glue. Last time I checked on them, Hap was teaching her the ukulele in her room, and knowing Bee, they wouldn’t emerge until she had mastered it.

I figured we had at least half an hour to ourselves, so I shrugged and let him drag me to the tree. He picked me up and sat on one of the low hanging branches as if I weighed nothing at all. I was momentarily impressed by his show of strength, but my thoughts quickly turned elsewhere as he pulled me to him. He kissed me ardently and I kissed back with the same fervor.

The last time I’d felt the thrill of stealing away from everything to kiss someone was probably at least forty years ago. This time, however, was an entirely different experience from the nervous fumbling Molly and I’d gotten up to. The Fool and I had only a few days of making out under our belts, but the the Fool was a fast learner. He already knew the best ways to turn my bones to jelly, which is probably why he’d put me on the tree.

Under the shade of the tree, I was caught between two sensations--the light summer breeze cooled my sweat-covered naked back while the Fool’s touch ignited the skin of my chest. I shivered in his arms and I could feel his smile on my mouth.

I would have stayed in the protection of the live oak all day if I could, but work beckoned both of us. He held my hand as we walked through the grove back to my garden and squeezed it before he made his way back to the house. The sun still beat down on my back, but the memory of time spent with the Fool in the shade made the heat less oppressive. My mind occupied, I probably stayed in the garden too long, and Bee was furious at me for coming back to the house dehydrated and sunburnt. After that, I promised to check in with her at least once every hour since I, as she put it, didn’t know how to take care of myself.

The last days of summer brought my older daughter Nettle to our home. Since her mother had died, Nettle liked to spend a few weeks with Bee and me to check up on us, but she hadn’t visited since the Fool moved in.

I think she was a little taken aback that I’d just invited my old friend to live with me (to live with Bee was her real issue) and that soured her first few days at home. She had met the Fool when she was a child, but only knew him as Mr. Golden, an eccentric contractor hired by the Farseer Company to do who knew what. I didn’t know if she even remembered him from that time.

I did know that she immediately disapproved of our living situation when she walked in on all us running through the foyer.

It had started in the least innocent of ways--I’d been writing in my den to meet a fast-approaching deadline when the Fool’d stirred me from my work. The first indication that he’d entered my den was him whispering “catch me if you can” in my ear. I jumped, startled, from my seat, but he was already back in the doorway, waggling his eyebrows before disappearing down the hallway.

“Fool, what in the name of--” I started, but he was already gone. I peeked in a few of the nearby rooms--the main floor bathroom, the laundry room, the butler’s pantry--but it was like he’d vanished into thin air.

I felt a tap on my shoulder once I reached the kitchen and I whipped around to find the Fool grinning madly at me. He skittered off through the living room, and the chase was on. Nighteyes opened one eyelid and peered at me as I careened around the sofa, but decided it wasn’t worth his time.

Every time I caught a glimpse of the Fool, he darted out of my view, only to reappear behind me or next to me as I tried to puzzle out where he went. He would then taunt me with a smile or a few words questioning my stamina in a very pointed way, before zinging off in another direction.

After a few such encounters, I planned my next attack. I stood at the top of the stairs next to Bee’s room (a little more winded than I liked to admit), and waited for him to come to me. He popped out of the linen closet and opened his mouth to tease me, but before he could get a word out, I kissed him. He wasn’t expecting that, and in the time it took his brain to process what was happening, I wrapped my arms around him.

“I win,” I said, nuzzling the soft skin of his neck.

“Only because you cheated,” he pointed out as he put his arms on my shoulders.

“So is it my turn to run and your turn to chase?” I asked flirtatiously and the Fool raised one eyebrow at me. He let me go and pushed me away from him.

“I’ll give you a small head start, Fitz,” he said haughtily, “It’s only fair. And when I catch you...” He trailed off, but the suggestion in his eyes picked up where he left off.

I took off down the stairs and nearly ran headlong into Bee, who came out of the library from one of her lessons to see what the commotion was. Despite her tutor’s protests, I recruited her to help me outsmart--or at least outmaneuver--the Fool in his pursuit.

Somehow Nighteyes joined us--whether because he wanted to win the game or to make sure no one bashed their head open I wasn’t sure--and the game morphed into a four-way game of tag. Nighteyes and Bee and the Fool ganged up together against me more than once, hiding themselves only to jump out and tackle me all at once.

Nettle walked in during one of the more chaotic parts of our game, when all four of us were racing around the large house. Nighteyes nipped at Bee’s heels as she flew down the stairs, laughing raucously the whole way, and the Fool and I weren’t far behind.

Nettle intercepted Bee as she ran by and looked at me disapprovingly. “Really, Fitz?”

I stopped at the bottom of the stairs and hunched over, hands on my knees, as I tried to catch my breath. I glared at the Fool--he hadn’t even broken a sweat. “It was the Fool’s idea,” I said breathlessly.

The Fool ignored me and reintroduced himself to Nettle. He offered to take Bee back to her tutor, and Bee practically leaped from Nettle’s arms. Nighteyes followed them, probably more interested in sprawling out on the cool floor of the library than hearing Nettle reprimand me.

Nettle, as typical of her visits, expressed concern about my parenting style. She worried that I didn’t know what to do with a small child. Hap and Nettle were both teenagers or close to when I’d come into their lives, and Molly’d been Bee’s primary caregiver until her death. Bee was ten now, and the most self-sufficient child I’d ever met. However, her early development had been slow and Nettle feared she needed more specialized attention.

It was an old argument and I waved her off. “Let’s not do this now,” I said, “You’ve only just arrived.”

She agreed grudgingly and I helped her take her things to one of the unused upstairs bedrooms. The property had come to Molly and me after Nettle had already moved out, so there wasn’t an old childhood bedroom to put her in. Instead, I had made up the room next to Bee’s and filled it with touches of her mother and Nettle’s childhood. A few school awards were lovingly displayed on the chest of drawers and a fat scented candle, handmade by Molly, sat next to the bed. At my request, the Fool had painted one wall with a field of lavender, a favorite flower of her mother’s.

Nettle wasn’t particularly sentimental, and she certainly didn’t hoard things the way Bee did, but I could see that the room affected her. “Oh, Da,” she said and threw her arms around my neck. My daughter was a grown woman now, but every scrap of attention she sent my way was precious. I clung to her tightly. Most of the time we’d known each other, she’d called me ‘Fitz’ or some other nickname; I could count on one hand the number of times she’d called me ‘Da.’

She took a step back and wiped an errant tear from her face.

“Why don’t I let you get settled in?” I asked, “And then we’ll see you for dinner?” The Fool was cooking, so I felt much better about inviting her to dinner than if I were making it.

She nodded and took her bags from where I’d set them by the door. She still tried to convince me on multiple occasions to let her take Bee after that night, though she didn’t push as hard as she once had.

I think that was mostly the Fool’s doing. Bee and the Fool had become instant friends from the moment they saw each other, and that bond only deepened over time. With both me and Nettle, Bee was stubborn and determined to do things her way, and her independent streak got her in trouble more than once. But she was different with the Fool. She looked him straight in the eyes in a way she rarely did with me and never did with Nettle. She also let him teach her, and he was eternally patient with her endless questions.

“You know,” Nettle started one morning not too long after she arrived over coffee as we sat on the tall stools at the kitchen island. Bee and the Fool had displaced us from the table in the breakfast nook, taking it over for whatever craft they had decided to undertake. Nettle and I could see them from our vantage point, heads bowed close as they examined the materials in front of them. “I think if most people saw the three of you, they would assume Bee was his daughter rather than yours.”

I coughed as some of my coffee went down my windpipe. “Why would you say that?” I croaked.

“She looks like him, for one--especially when you compare her to those old pictures of you two as kids,” she explained. I hadn’t really thought of Bee resembling a young Fool, but now that Nettle had pointed it out to me, I couldn’t deny it. She had his same pale coloring, his same wispy white blonde hair, his same small stature.

“They also get along so well,” she said and I nodded. I could see them, thick as thieves, as they set to whatever task they had decided on for the day.

“Plus,” she added, “With the way you and him are so grossly affectionate, it’s obvious you’re together.”

I spluttered again and overturned my coffee. Nettle sighed and got up to grab a kitchen towel. Instead of mopping up the coffee, she flung it at me. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?” she hissed, “Why didn’t you just tell me?!”

“What was I supposed to say?” I spat some of her anger back at her but tried to keep my voice down. I didn’t want the Fool and Bee to overhear this argument. “‘Oh Nettle, by the way, I’m seeing someone again. I know your mother just died, but I love him. Also, he’s a man.’ How well would that have gone over?!”

Her cheeks flamed, with anger or embarrassment I never found out, because she stormed out of the room without another word. I finished cleaning up the coffee, bemoaning how I’d handled things.

“Fitz!” The Fool’s voice called to me, cutting into my mental beratement. “Come over here and help us.”

 

I trod over to the table to find them stringing prisms and crystals to sparkly pipe cleaner frames. The Fool had also found an old dusty box of blank CDs which he reappropriated for this project, encouraging Bee to cover them in designs drawn in glitter glue.

“What are you making?” I asked, taking the seat next to Bee.

“Sun catchers,” the Fool said plainly as his dextrous fingers contorted several pipe cleaners into a shape suitable for hanging.

Bee put a CD in front of me and a glitter pen in my hand. I had never done well at creative endeavors, but if Bee wanted me to craft with her, who was I to say no?

By the time we had exhausted all of our supplies, we had enough sun catchers to put at least two in every room of the house. I knew that Bee and the Fool would put the lion’s share in their rooms--I remembered fondly the Fool’s childhood bedroom boasting several of its own handmade mobiles, and Bee liked to use what she made.

One made it into my bedroom, and another into my den. The Fool encouraged me to give one to Nettle, but I wasn’t sure she wanted to see me. After mulling over the thought for a few hours, I decided the Fool was right, and I went to Nettle’s room.

I rapped my knuckles on the door and she admitted me almost instantly.

“I’m sorry for yelling,” she said as she invited me in, “I’ve just never liked your habit of keeping secrets.”

“I’m sorry, too, Nettle. I never mean to keep things from you. I just don’t know how to talk about myself … or about these sorts of things.”

“Do you keep things from the Fool?” she asked, and I felt her set a trap for me. If I said yes, she would question why I was with him then. If I said no, she would scold me for trusting a man I hadn’t seen for two decades but not his own daughter.

I sighed. After her frustrations with my lies by omission, honestly would be the best course to take. “No,” I said, “I don’t keep things from him.”

She nodded once and surprised me by smiling. “Good. I’m glad there’s at least one person in your life you really talk to. Though--” she scrunched up her nose in distaste, “can we call him something other than ‘The Fool’?”

“That’s how I’ve always known him.” I wasn’t about to tell her that often in private I called the Fool by his birth name. She might think I was keeping things from her again, but as far as I was concerned, it wasn’t my secret to tell. “When he’s working, he goes by Amber, but I don’t think he’d want you to call him that here. And you knew him once as Mr. Golden, but I think that is less of a name and more of a whole persona.”

“How do you know it’s really him with you?” she asked, “And it’s not just another persona?”

I shook my head. “I’ve known him for nearly all my life, Nettle. He was my first friend and he’s the best friend I’ve ever had. We may have been apart for long stretches of time, but I would know him, the true him, anywhere and at anytime.”

She startled me by hugging me. In addition to not being sentimental, my older daughter wasn’t the affectionate type. And yet, she had already hugged me twice in less than a week. “I’m happy for you,” she mumbled into my shoulder, “and I know Mother would have been happy, too.”

I put her at arm's length, a million questions in my eyes. She met my look with one of exasperation. “Do you really think that she’d want you to pine after her for the rest of your life?”

I tried to start a sentence and failed.

“The answer is ‘no,’ Fitz,” she said, rolling her eyes, “And now I have things to do, so it’s time for you to go.”

I dumbly held up the sun catcher in my hand I’d almost forgotten about. “Bee made this for you.”

She took it from me, and pushed me out the door. The Fool stood at the end of the hall, pretending he wasn’t waiting for me to come out.

“So,” he said nonchalantly, “how’d it go?”

I shrugged. “Pretty well I guess?”

He reached for me and I went to him easily. He held my face in his hands and kissed me on the cheek. l dropped my head onto his shoulder and my arms came up to rest on his waist. “If you’d told me when we were kids that the world would look like this--that my life would look like this--I would have thought you were lying.”

He made a considering noise. “You never believed me when we were kids. I might have foreseen this and even told you, and but you dismissed it. So, I suppose you are right.”

“Speak plainly Beloved,” I growled into his neck, “I never have any idea what you are talking about.”

He pulled my head up so he could look in my eyes. “Where’s the fun in that? Besides, when I speak clearly you still don’t like it.”

I groaned and he released me, laughing at my reaction. He picked up a box I hadn’t seen next to his feet and put it in my open arms.

“Bee wants to put some up in the living room, and we both agreed you should be the one to get up on the ladder.” I followed him obediently back to the living room, and I spent the afternoon climbing up and down a ladder to ensure that every sun catcher was in its optimal position. When we were done, Bee, the Fool and I laid on the floor and watched the light bounce and bend around the room until the sun dipped behind the trees.

The day before Nettle was to leave, she announced over lunch that she needed some quality time with Bee, and was therefore taking her to dinner and a movie. She gave me a pointed look across the table when she said they’d be back around eleven, but I had no idea what she was trying to tell me.

The Fool thanked Nettle effusively and asked Bee what movie she wanted to see. Bee said the name of a movie I’d never heard of, but from her plot synopsis, I surmised that it was the newest animated blockbuster about talking animals.

After lunch, I secluded myself in my den to finish editing a chapter of my manuscript. Bee and Nettle popped in to tell me goodbye, but I was so engrossed in editing, that I barely remember more than a kiss on the cheek from Bee and a pat on the shoulder from Nettle.

Nettle hadn’t closed the door all the way when she left, so not too long after her departure, the smell of something delicious wafted from the kitchen to my den. I followed the smell down the hall to find the Fool hard at work over the stove, his hair pulled back into a messy top knot with a bright pink headband to keep any loose wisps out of his face. He also wore an apron and I wondered briefly if I’d ever seen an apron in the house before.

He spied me after stirring something in a pot, and shooed me out of the room. He told me there were gifts for me on my bed and I wasn’t to come back down until I was showered and shaved and properly attired. I admitted that it had been a day or two since my last shower, but I protested that I was clean enough. Then the Fool pointed out three ink stains on my shirt, and raised my arm, releasing the foul odor trapped there.

I conceded the Fool’s point, but still grumbled as I climbed the stairs to my bedroom. I opened the door and immediately spotted a large flat box sitting next to a paper shopping bag. I started with the box since it was nearest to me, opening it to find a soft light grey three-piece suit. I would have never picked it for myself, the fabric so fine that I worried I would tear it if I put it on.

I put the suit back in the box carefully and started in on the shopping bag. I found a simple white dress shirt still in its packaging and a deep red tie. Underneath those items was a new brown leather belt (which I actually had been desperately needing) and brown dress shoes to match. Tucked into the shoes was a new pair of socks with a pink and purple argyle pattern that I knew the Fool included to see if I would actually wear them.

I turned over the bag to see if anything was left and blushed when I saw what fell out. A new package of black boxer briefs taunted me from where it sat on my bed. I wondered if, like the socks, the Fool was trying to make me uncomfortable, or if he just figured I wouldn’t have any clean underwear. A third possibility popped into my mind--what if he thought he was going to see me in them tonight.

I dismissed the idea immediately. We hadn’t had that sort of intimacy yet, and though part of me longed to engage in the sort of activities that my mind had just conjured up, we hadn’t had any real alone time.

That is, until tonight.

I shook my head--the Fool was probably just messing with me. Plus, in all honesty, I didn’t have any clean underwear.

I showered and shaved, per the Fool’s request, and only managed to nick myself once. I looked at myself in the mirror, rubbing an appraising hand over my jaw, but I hardly recognized my reflection. Clean-shaven and with my hair neat and clean, I looked at least a decade younger, if not more. I dismissed the man in the mirror with a wave before pulling my hair back into a low ponytail.

I stepped back into the bedroom naked, and started tearing into packaging. I put on everything the Fool had laid out for me and marveled at how well it all fit. I wondered if he had snuck into my room to check sizes or measured me when I was sleeping at my desk, or if he was just that good at guessing.

All told, it had been close to an hour since the Fool had pushed me up the stairs when I wandered back down to the kitchen. I was surprised to see that the Fool and any trace of what he’d been cooking was gone.

A gentle touch on my elbow had me spinning around wildly. The Fool grinned at me and I scowled. “I’m starting to think you like sneaking up on me,” I said.

“Only starting?” He asked airily, a smirk on his face. Despite my annoyance, I couldn’t help but admire his appearance. He too was dressed finely, in a deep blue suit that only made his coloring more attractive. His hair was elaborately done, intermittent smaller braids coming together in a larger french braid, with blue beads and rhinestones woven in. He also wore the earring I’d given him, and with his hair swept to one side, it was on prominent display.

I let him take my hand--his own ornamented with a few silver rings--and he led me from the kitchen to the rarely used dining room.

I was shocked to behold it. The dining room was only lit by candlelight, and the Fool had set two places for us, one at the head of the table and one to its right. I must have been gaping because the Fool put one lithe finger under my jaw and shut it.  

“Come now, Fitz,” he said, “before the food gets cold.”

I took my place at the head of the table and he served me dishes I didn’t have names for. They were all cooked perfectly--crisp steaming vegetables, juicy perfectly-seasoned meat and a sauce that exploded with flavor on my tongue. I devoured it all, moaning between bites. Once I’d finished most of my meal, I realized there hadn’t been much in the way of conversation.

I took a swallow of my wine--the perfect complement to the food--and cleared my throat. “Thank you, Fool,” I said sheepishly, “It’s all so delicious and I hadn’t realized how hungry I was.”

He just looked at me, eyes twinkling, as if he hadn’t just watched a ravenous wolf sit down at the table and chow down. “It was no trouble at all.”

“I would have helped you if you wanted me to,” I offered but he shook his head.

“I wanted to do something special for you, Fitz, after all you done for me.” I tried to protest but he cut me off with the flick of a his hand. “You have invited me into your home, into your family, and asked for nothing in return.”

This time, I stopped him. “I have always wanted you in my life. For so long, I wondered where you were, whether you were alright, if you missed me as much as I missed you.”

“Everyday!” he cried, “I thought of you everyday, Fitz, but I couldn’t come back. I couldn’t chance messing up what you had. I loved you but I had to let you go.”

I pushed back my chair and dropped my napkin on the table. I moved the plates out of the way and perched on the edge of the table next to him, before enfolding him in my arms. He clutched my vest and I could feel tears on my dress shirt. I figured if the Fool bought them, he had every right to muss them.

“I love you too, Fool,” I whispered into his hair, “I will always love you.”

I held him until he stopped shaking. When his tears subsided, he pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket and dabbed under his eyes. “I must confess something to you, Fitz,” he said, “Though I fear I’ve ruined the mood, I asked Nettle to take Bee for the evening so we could be alone.”

Their conversation from lunch suddenly made much more sense, as did Nettle’s look at me. My face heated up, but I tried to play it cool. “And Nighteyes?” I asked.

“He asked to go out while you were in the shower, and I have a feeling he will be out for a while,” he said, “I left the back door unlocked and cracked for him, just in case.” Nighteyes had figured out ages ago that if a door was even the slightest bit open, he could open it the rest of the way. Fortunately, he was also courteous enough to close doors behind him.

“So it’s just you and me?”

He smiled, his eyes still watery with unshed tears. “Just you and me.”

I stood up and straightened my vest. “Nettle said they’d be back at eleven,” I said, “Should we make good use of our time until then?”

He surged up out of his chair and threw himself into my arms. I ran a hand down his neck, my rough and calloused fingers contrasting with his smooth skin, and he shivered from the touch.

“Shall we go up to my bedroom?” he asked nervously. The Fool had never invited me into his room, so I was honored that he asked. I nodded and after he blew out the candles on the table, he slipped both hands into mine. He pulled me through the foyer and up the stairs to the door of his room, where he had me wait while he went inside first.

After a few anxious minutes, he bade me enter and I gasped at what I saw.

He had little trinkets and mementos of his many travels scattered over every surface. The sun catchers he’d made with Bee joined a few I recognized from decades ago, and a few that had been added since then. His bed was covered with a plush comforter in the deepest of purples and too many pillows to count. A space heater sat in the corner unplugged, waiting for when it would be needed in the cooler months. It was tidy and comfortable and so much the Fool that my heart caught my throat.

The Fool stood next to his bed and fidgeted uncharacteristically. I went to him and pressed my forehead to his, recalling the times he had done that for me when I’d been anxious. The Fool immediately calmed and I brought my hands up to open his suit jacket.

“Is this alright?” I asked and he kissed me in reply. I pushed it from his shoulders and let it fall to the floor. I knew the Fool would chastise me for it later, but I think even he knew we didn’t have time for folding.

I next went to his cuffs, deftly undoing the mother of pearl cufflinks and small buttons at his wrists. He took the cufflinks from me and put them in his pocket for safekeeping, and while he did so, I untied his tie. I moved so slowly it was almost painful, but I wasn’t sure when next I would have a chance to undress the Fool.

His tie joined his suit jacket on the floor, and started on the buttons of his shirt. One at a time, I unbuttoned each button, letting my fingers linger and glide a line down his chest. By the time his shirt was off, his breaths were uneven and ragged, and his skin was flushed from his chest up to his cheeks.

I reached out to touch his pink skin, tracing his collarbone with one dark thumb, and he moaned in satisfaction. The other hand snaked down his naked chest to unfasten his belt, but a strong grip on my wrist stopped me.

I retracted my hand and let him take over. He spared little time in getting me out of my jacket and vest, displaying an impatience I’d rarely seen from him. He wrapped a hand around my tie and pulled me forward into a passionate kiss. I tried my best to hold on for dear life as he kissed and nibbled and sucked a line from my mouth, up my jaw and down my neck, all the while pulling off my tie and unbuttoning my shirt.

He gave me a slight push and I fell onto the bed with a small bounce. We laughed as I fell and he landed on top of me. He kissed me again, and I sighed into his mouth. The softness of his comforter on my back was echoed by the smooth glide of his skin on my chest. He kissed his way down my chest and I was out of my pants before I could blink, the fastenings of my belt and slacks falling open under the Fool’s nimble fingers.

I quickly discovered that sharing a bed with the Fool was, in turns, very similar and very different than any previous experience I’d had. Under his gentle tutelage, I learned that any differences were rather inconsequential while the similarities were exhilerating.

Once we were done, I wrapped him up in my arms and threw his comforter over both of us. We laid in his bed, naked and sated, with him drawing intricate patterns across my breast, until his alarm clock beeped at us.

“I set that so we’d have half an hour to get ourselves back together before your daughters returned,” he explained as he extricated himself from my arms. I groaned and he threw my wrinkled clothes on top of my face. “You can put those back on so you don’t blind Nighteyes by walking around naked--” I swatted him on the behind as he walked by for that comment, “but I would suggest changing into something that isn’t quite so revelatory about how we spent our evening.”

As I got dressed, I spotted another bust carved from the same stone as the two I had of me and Nighteyes. It was behind a few other of the Fool’s projects, some half-finished and some abandoned, but the shine of the polished rock shone like a beacon to me. The Fool was busy taking a shower in the bathroom, so I picked it up and noticed it had the same grooves on the side.

It was the Fool! He looked like the teenager I had parted ways with so long ago, an open and amused look on his face. I must have stared at it for quite some time, because I didn’t hear the water of the shower shut off, or the bathroom door open.

“I wasn’t sure if you would want it,” he said over my shoulder as he wrung water out of his hair with a towel. If he was upset that I found the bust, his voice betrayed nothing.

“I do want it.” I held the carving to my chest with both hands.

He gave it a small smile before kissing the corner of my mouth, an echo of our first kiss in my den. “I fear that I have never been wise, Fitz,” he said, pushing me out the door, “Now go on and get dressed before Nettle sees you in such a state.”

“Wait,” I said, catching his hand before he could close the door, “would you sleep with me tonight? Not sleep together, as in what we just did--” I stammered but I had to get it out, “but sleep sleep.”

He gave me a wry smile. “I think that can be arranged.”

“And the night after that?” Hope made my voice tremor.

“If you wish it,” he agreed.

“And,” I hesitated, “If I wished for you to stay with me every night for the rest of our lives, what would you say to that?”

He looked at me seriously. As he contemplated my request, the seconds ticked by like hours. “There will be times I will be away and, by sheer virtue of distance, unable to accommodate you. But I don’t see that being a problem when I am at home.”

“Fool,” I whined, “is that a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’?”

“Beloved, of course it’s a ‘yes’.” He put a hand on my face to pull me in for a brief kiss. “Now, your daughters just parked in front and unless you want to explain things to Bee, I suggest you find a fresh set of clothing.”

I scampered away, but turned to face him before I went into my room. “Tonight then?” I asked hopefully.

“Tonight.”

And that night, I slept better than I had in ages. My usual nightmares didn’t plague me, and I woke feeling rested and refreshed. I opened my eyes to see the Fool snoring softly in my arms and I could feel that some time in the night, Bee and Nighteyes had found their own spots on my king-sized bed.

The sun was just beginning to crest the horizon and I looked over my family in the first light of morning. It had taken a long time to get us all here, but I knew in that instant it was worth the wait, worth all the pain I’d had to endure, all the loss, all the insecurity. All of those choices, both mine and others, had led me to this point in time, this point of pure happiness.

I felt like I had finally achieved some measure of peace in my life, after fighting so hard for it for such a long time. Two of my children were grown and living productive and happy lives, and they still came to visit their old man. My youngest daughter was intelligent and precocious, yet still she chose to stay with me in our old country house rather than embrace the opportunities of the city Nettle offered. My wife was dead, but we’d had nearly twenty years together--we might have missed our beginning, but we got a happily ever after. My wolf was ambling toward his twilight years, but he still saw looking after Bee his responsibility and I often thought of him as the most responsible in the house.

And now, after so many years of missing him, my Fool had returned to me.

In just a few hours, the Bee and Nighteyes and the Fool would stir from their slumber, and we would all migrate downstairs to eat breakfast to say goodbye to Nettle. Until then, I could bask in a sense of joy I’d rarely known. I could hold them close and know the world was as it should be. I could love and be loved freely.

I put a hand on my daughter, snuck a foot under my wolf and buried my head in my lover’s embrace. Safe and secure, I let sleep carry me away again, unafraid of what the future might bring.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a written as a means of coping with all of my raging emotions after finishing _Fool's Assassin_ last week. Many thanks to [messier51](http://messier51.tumblr.com) for not only telling me to read these these books but also for giving me a bunch of ideas for this fic. This is her excellent alternate banner for the fic:
> 
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>  [](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/shesanowheregirl/media/a%20brief%20history%20of.png.html)   
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> 


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